The Incredibly Fun Life of Mysterion
by lizoftheinfinite
Summary: Life sucks and then you die. Except for when dying doesn't work.
1. Thank You For Dying

I wake up in my bed alive, and it's the worse feeling in the world because I still taste the blood in my mouth and my head still throbs from being slammed against pavement a dozen times.

I lie there for a few seconds, eyes closed, knowing if I open them everything will be completely normal. I'll have the same old room with the pictures of playboy bunnies taped to the ceiling, the same ragged carpet.

I want to sleep.

I can't.

I roll off my mattress. I hear my parents snoring in their room down the hallway. Mom's probably sleeping off giving birth to me for the nine hundred and thirty-second time (I've been counting). I wade my way through the dirty clothes on the floor and over to the closet. My Mysterion outfit is hung up in the corner, undamaged.

A few months ago I finally ditched the whole underwear-outside-of-clothes look, though I kept the black mask, because that's my frigging trademark. I always wake up at about four o clock in the morning, which means it's been about four hours since I was killed.

Usually I at least get to go to hell before the real world drags me back. Thanks, Satan, thanks.

I leave the black hood down while I dig around on the floor for my cell phone. It doesn't even text since I have to pay for it and the minutes myself, but it can make simple phone calls.

I call Stan's number. He'll bitch me out tomorrow if I'm just worrying, but if they're still in trouble then I've gotta help them out. Because even though they're assholes, they're my friends.

"What the fuck?" he mumbles groggily after four rings.

I breathe a sigh of relief. "It's me."

"Oh. Hey, I can understand you. Why the hell are you calling me at three in the morning?"

"Did you guys get the baseball team taken care after I . . ."

"You ditched us? Yeah, we did. No thanks to you."

I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking, it's not his fault, it's not his fault.

"Police pick them up?"

"No, Kyle splashed holy water on them and-"

"How-"

"I don't know how to explain it to you, but the holy water made them burn up so they ran away, so they'll be back. I think they're vampires."

"Vampires? Again?"

"Yeah. At least these ones don't sparkle."

"Oh. Yeah."

We wait for a few seconds before continuing our conversation.

I work up the courage. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Bruised up, but fine."

"Kyle? Cartman?"

"We're all fine, Kenny." He cuts himself off abruptly, then sighs into the phone.

"Why do you even care?"

"Because-"

"Good night, dude."

He hangs up on me. I throw down the phone and scowl at it.

I wish I could explain. I wish I could yell at him: _Stan, you're such a douchebag._

The vampires will be back after my friends soon. I slip the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and start to slide open my window. The cool night air splashes against me, and I grit my teeth against the cold. I leave the house. My parents won't notice anyways; they never notice.

Ten bucks says I get murdered again.

My ratted sneakers sink into the snow drifts. I wish I could afford new shoes. I wish I could go a single night without dying. I wish people remembered when I saved their asses.

Time to save the world.

Being a superhero is just so. Much. Fucking. Fun.

**I feel like Kenny doesn't get enough screen time. He's the coolest character ever. I also feel like he's shipped around too much. Really, there's more to him than that. Anyway, if you enjoyed this plotless drabble, please review! **


	2. They Get Terrible Cell Reception in Hell

**I loved the first drabble I did so much that I decided to add another one. This one has . . . a plot? **

**Please enjoy. **

"Seeya after class, Ken."

Tammy kisses me on the cheek and heads to her eighth period Ceramics class. I manage to keep from flushing bright red. I might have a slight porn addiction, but that doesn't mean I can't feel shy.

Kyle and Stan tease me as the three of us saunter to Gym.

"You two are practically _married."_ Stan emphasizes the last word with awe.

"Shut up, dude," I mumble through my muffling parka. "You and Wendy've been going out longer."

"But not continuously. I think if we dated for six months continuously, she'd probably kill me."

Six months. It's really been that long. I asked her out three days before my fifteenth birthday. She said yes in a text minute at midnight as a present. Best birthday present ever. Also not particularly romantic if you think about it too much, but eh, she's plenty romantic now. _If you know what I mean._

We change into our uniforms, black-and-blue shorts and t-shirts that make the twenty-three students in my P.E. class look like giant bruises. The mob of us head out to the track, our butch-lesbian coach shouting the number of laps we have to run before the end of the class period.

The guys continue to tease me as we jog, as slow as possible. I keep my hood on while I run, spacing out. The fields are set up for baseball. It's the baseball season. Our team has beat North Park's team thirty-nine years in a row, which is probably why they sold their souls to Satan and became blood-sucking creatures of the night this year. They're on the winning streak now, since it's **always** raining in North Park and the shadows give them super-strength. Unfortunately, they're also using their superpowers to kill the strongest members of their opposing team.

And . . .speaking of the fucking devil.

I spot the clump of kids in the trees out by the chain-link fence.

"Dude, where are you going?" Stan demands when I exit the track.

"Jackin' off," I call, to which he and Kyle gag and call, 'Sick, man, in the middle of class?'

The North Park vampires glare at me when I shift through the cluster of trees and walk into their inner circle. They wear their black hoodies over their spiky hair in an attempt to shield themselves from the sun's toxic rays. Before they were hard-ass jocks. Now they're just emo. It's actually depressing.

"What are you fags doing out during the day?" I snap. As a bisexual, I have f-word rights.

They take me in with dark red eyes. Finally, their leader, a kid named Darrin, says, "You're the one who's been killing all of our players."

"That's me." I shoot him a smile.

"You're Mysterion."

"Pure genius, dude. No one else in the town figured that out seven years ago."

"Shut the fuck up," he snarls. "Just shut the fuck up, you get it? We are going to fucking kill you. I don't know how you managed to stay alive this long, but we are going to smash your skull open and punch your ribs in and rape your ass against a tree and nail you to the ground with fucking spikes, understand? And once we're done with you, we are going to start killing everyone who's gonna come watch you get torn apart."

I've heard all of these threats from him before in the numerous other times he's killed me. I snigger, which is the final straw.

One of them lunges for me. I duck around him and pull my gun from my parka. BAM. BAM. BAM. Three vamps down. They won't stay that way forever (it takes a lot more than lead to kill them) but it'll keep 'em unconscious for a while.

A fourth vamp grabs my arm and twists it behind me. I scream, my voice muffled by my parka, and slam the metal of my gun against his head. He crumples back but a fifth vamp swings a fist and hits my face with his rock-hard, inhuman hands. I stumble back and crash against a tree.

"Kenny? Kenny? You okay?"

Stan and Kyle break through the trees, their eyes wide with shock. They freeze when they see the North Park kids.

"Holy fucking shit, it's them!" Kyle calls, rather unnecessarily. He raises his fists and start forward.

"Don't be an idiot!" I scream. Darrin tackles me against the mulchy ground and pins me on my stomach. "Get out of here! Get everyone out of here!"

Stan grabs Kyle and turns, yanking him from the trees and out onto the track. Half a dozen vamps start to follow them, but screech and set back when the sunlight burns their flesh.

The sunlight. If only I can get to the fucking sunlight-

Darrin chuckles when he feels me try to scrabble forward. He pins my wrists above my head and hisses with his half-human, half-monster voice.

"You're going to regret every fucking thing you've ever done to us, Kenny Fucking McCormick."

They always make good on their promises.

I wake up at four o clock on the dot after an irritating conversation with the giant red asshole under our feet. I'd just spent two hours chewing him out for accepting the souls of those North Park bastards (and he'd bitched right back at me, the pussy).

As per usual, I lie in bed for thirty seconds, eyes closed. Then I realize I blew off my date with Tammy.

I lurch out my window and sprint to her house. She's asleep in her bed, her eyelashes resting against her cheek, her mouth half-open in a soft snore. I feel like a creeper peering through her window, but open it anyway. She's the only one in her family with her own bedroom. Her three little sisters share a room, her two little brothers have another.

I've crept in like this plenty of times. I slink over to her mattress and tap her on the shoulder.

She wakes without fear, without surprise. Her softly angled face tightens into pissed-off mode when she sees me.

"You ditched. Again."

"Sorry."

"You always do this."

I slip down besides her on her mattress.

"Sorry," I mumble, slipping my hood off so she can hear me better.

"It was work," I add after a few seconds silence.

"Hero-work?"

Like I said before, the whole town knows about Mysterion.

"Kinda."

"You could've at least called."

"Sorry." Jesus, I've said that three times in two minutes. I want to say, _I would've called, baby, but Satan charges like a bitch for long-distance calls down in hell._

"It's okay." She sighs, even though we both know she doesn't think it's okay.

I fold myself around her, pulling her against my chest. We breathe together for a few seconds, our hearts beating slightly out of sync.

"I know something's up with you, Ken," she breathes out. "Something's always been up with you. It's probably linked to the shitty insanity of this crazy town. And I know a normal life is impossible to ask for, what with you being the hero you are."

She twines her fingers with mine and turns to face me, a sad, slight smile on her lips.

"Just try to make it as normal as possible, okay? Make it as normal as possible and I'll stick with you."

She kisses me.

My heart floods.

I'm happy.

Then a light fixture comes loose from the ceiling, crashes onto my head, and brains me.


	3. Merry Fucking Christmas, Part 1

Christmas eve, and I'm fighting vampire baseball – ahem_, basketball_ – players from North Park. Fuck my life.

I crash through the aisles of the local Fred Meyers. I bowl over a row of soup cans, and they tumble around me, some of them crashing down onto my arms and legs, half-burying me.

One of the vampires, a lackey named Alec, stands over me, half-scowling, half-smirking.

"I don't know how you got away from us last time, McCormick," he sings out. "But it's so not going to happen this time."

I sigh. The noise is clear because I'm not wearing my parka (I'm dressed up in the hideous blue uniforms my boss makes us wear). I swear to god, we've had this conversation fifty times in the past eight months. Even with their demonic powers, our baseball team still beat theirs at the championships. So they lurked for the entire summer, and came back with vengeance for the football season. Which they lost, again. So now we're on basketball.

"We're going to smash your skull-" he starts.

"Oh, god, not the monologue again." I pull my gun from my belt, point it at him, and fire three times. I hear people screaming in the background. The vampires are terrorizing the store. Alec tumbles backwards when my shots hit him. He won't stay dead for long.

I clamber to my feet, plant a sneaker on his chest, and look around for something to use as a stake. We're right next to the gardening aisle. I find a hoe and drag it back to him. He's started to moan, dark blood gushing from the wounds in his chest. His eyes focus on me. He opens his mouth to scream.

"Nice try," I snigger, and then I jam the end of the garden hoe into his chest. It slices deep into him, piercing his heart. My muscles strain from the effort. I step back and admire my handiwork. Vampire blood coats my hands, gooey and sick.

"Listen up, bitches!" I holler. "I killed one of your little boytoys!"

The vampires appear in front of me, seemingly out of midair (they move pretty fast). Their teeth are coated in blood. Darrin stands in the front of the flock, his eyes narrowed. There's still a dozen of them left, even though I've gotten pretty good at killing them in the past eight months.

"So, if you don't want me to shove a stake up your ass, I suggest you get out of here." I gesture towards my example, Alec, with a bloody hand.

If I could, I would take them all on here, right now. But I can't beat them all (I can only hurt them). I can't risk other people getting hurt.

Darrin glances at his second-in-command, Wayne (yes, his name is seriously Wayne. I'm not bullshitting you). They share a look. Then Darrin jerks his head and the vampires follow him out of the store.

I sigh and slump against the pile of cans around me. They still roll over the tiled floor. People gather in a mob, some of them drenched in their own blood.

"You're welcome," I sigh out. My boss steps in front of me, his eyes narrowed.

"What the hell are you dong, McCormick?" he snaps.

I blink at him. "Er – saving your asses?"

"This place is a wreck! There's blood everywhere! You knocked over the shelves and those vampires you brought in wrecked a ton of furniture! Do you know how much it is going to cost you to fix this up!"

"I didn't bring those vampires in!"

"Someone's responsible for this, and it's clearly you," he snaps.

"I just saved all your asses!"

"McCormick." He glowers at me. "You. Are. Fired."

I gape for a few seconds. Fury blooms within me. I have to choke on my words, on the urge to snarl at him.

"Okay."

I stand up and hand him my nametag. I'm still jittery from adrenaline, my blood still pumping through my veins at a million miles a minute. There's a roaring in my ears, but I ignore the nausea in my stomach.

"Give me my paycheck," I say. I'd be getting this month's tonight, anyways.

He laughs. "Are you shitting me? That's not even going to cover half of what you owe us. I'm going want at least five thousand out of you."

"Five thou-"

I don't have five thousand in savings. I was supposed to get about two thousand this month from working my ass off and pulling all those extra, late-night shifts.

I turn and start to stomp out of the Fred Meyers, hating the blue shirt I wear.

"I'll send you the bill, McCormick!" he yells.


	4. Merry Fucking Christmas, Part 2

It's freezing outside. Ice slicks the sidewalk, and my sneakers don't have enough grip to cling to the sidewalk. I trip twice on the way home, chipping my hands on the ice. Wind whips around me, carrying stinging spatters of snow.

Yeah. Fuck my life.

I pick my parka out of the alleyway where I hide it before work. It protects me from the snow, at least, although the wind's cold fingers still scratch at me. My exposed cheeks chap red. It's almost eleven o clock at night. No one is out – it's Christmas tomorrow, after all.

Our house is cold.

Mom and Dad must have forgotten to pay the heating bill.

They're sitting at the kitchen table, passing a bottle of brandy back and forth between the two of them.

Kevin slouches across our threadbare couch, vacant stare on the TV.

My little sister Kendra is curled up in the corner, wearing her threadbare PJs, reading from _Nancy Drew. _She looks up when she hears me open the door, a smile on her face. Her smile fails when she sees I'm not loaded down with bags.

I can't say anything to her. I scuff my sneakers on the carpet next to the door (we don't have a fucking welcome mat) and head over to Kevin.

"Did you get paid?" I demand, my voice muffled through my parka.

"Huh?" He looks up at me. "Oh. Yeah. It's in my bedroom."

Kevin and I were forced to share a bedroom two years ago when a giant meteor shot through the house and destroyed my bedroom, killing me in the process. We don't have the money to repair it, so we just boarded up that part of the house. He still refers to it as 'his' room. Asshole.

The rumpled-up envelope lies on the unkept bed. He's already gotten it cashed in. I count out twenties.

_Sixty- Eighty- One hundred- _

He only has one hundred and sixty in here.

He was supposed to get at least a thousand.

I stomp back into our makeshift living room. Kevin raises his eyebrows when he sees me.

"This isn't enough to even pay the bills, fucker," I snarl.

"Mom and dad can deal with that."

"Mom and dad are fucking alcoholics!" I throw the envelope containing the money at him. "We don't have any money! We're probably going to have to sell the rest of the furniture tomorrow, including that fucking TV. And I want you to be the one to explain to Kendra why she's not getting any presents or a tree tomorrow."

"What about your paycheck?" he growls.

"Vampires attacked us!" I half-scream, half-mumble. "It wasn't my fucking fault. But you probably spent all yours on your girlfriend!"

He looks sheepish.

"Don't look like that." I turn and stalk back out of the house. Kendra's curled up in the corner, her eyes huge and welling with tears.

That's what I get for trying to rely on anyone.

xxx

**Yup. Short chapter. The next one will be longer. And sooner. **


	5. If Life Was Fair I'd Already Be Dead

I updated! You probably though I was never going to do that again, didn't you?

Well, here's the penultimate chapter. Enjoy!

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><p>It's still freaking freezing outside, and when I huddle in the alley I feel my body start to frost and numb. For a second I consider letting myself die. It would be warmer down in Hell; there would be food and I could hang out with Damien and forget about the expression on my sister's face when I ran out of the house.<p>

All humans possess an automatic instinct of self-perseveration. As oxymoronic as it is, I still have one. I clamber to my feet, wincing as my muscles protest. Then I head for someone's house.

I end up at Stan's. He lives closest to me, and although he doesn't have the same moral streak as Kyle, he usually feeds any pathetic mutt he sees roaming the street. Maybe I'll qualify under that category. I knock on his door and he opens it after about thirty seconds. He wears nice clothes, not the kind you'd go to a concert in, but a polo and dark, clean jeans.

"Oh," he says. "Hi."

"Am I interrupting?" The words come out of my mouth all chewed-up and incomprehensible from my shivering. He seems to get my meaning anyways.

"No, not a family thing. We've already done that. Mom said I can go to Bebe's Christmas Party. I'm meeting Wendy and Kyle there, too."

I stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. Flakes cling to my eyebrows and stray pieces of hair hanging out of my hood.

"You can come, too . . .?" he tries.

I make an attempt at a smile. "That's be great."

He lends me a pair of jeans, sans holes, and a long-sleeved shirt that makes me feel less like white trash. Then he drives both of us to Bebe's house.

Even before we step inside, I can tell the party is going to be typical high school fare; every light is on, teenagers are screaming their lungs out and gyrating to the screeching dance music, and everything smells like beer and pot.

Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. I wonder what Kendra's doing. Sitting in her room, hungry, crying? Probably.

It's not my problem. It's not my fault. It's my parents' job to look after her, not mine.

Stan and I slip inside and immediately the crowd consumes me. I find myself grinding with a random girl I don't even know, watching couples make out, drinking from a glass of punch I know is spiked.

Letting go. Doing whatever the hell I want. It's beautiful. I feel free of all my constraints; my duty to the town as Mysterion, my little sister's begging eyes, money (_it's always about the fucking money, isn't it?_) and even my death.

For right now, I'm just dancing and drinking and breathing.

Hands grab my right shoulder. I whirl. Tammy's right behind me, grinning, her hair cascading down her shoulders and her eyelids dusted with makeup.

"Hey! I thought you said you weren't coming!"

I can't even remember her asking. "Uh . . . changed my mind . . . ?"

"That's awesome!" She plants a kiss on my cheek. The music changes to a slow song and I put my hands on her hips. She smiles up at me shyly. And we dance.

Our bodies sliding together. The smell of her sweat burning in my nose. Her hands around my neck. Her heartbeat pounding hard enough for me to feel it when I move closer to her.

Perfect. Everything is perfect.

And so, of course, I die.

* * *

><p>When I wake up at hell, I just stare up at the ceiling blissfully, still smiling, completely out of it. Then I realize where I am. Damien's bedroom.<p>

I jump to my feet. Damien is lying on his bed, reading a comic book. He raises an eyebrow when I move.

"What the fuck?" I scream. "How the hell did I die?"

"Overdose," he says, and turns a page of his comic book.

The hood of my parka is still down. I rake my hands through my hair. It's still gross and sweaty and smells like beer from the party.

Not fair. Not fucking fair.

"_I was happy! I was fucking happy for once in my fucking life! Take me back to the surface right now, you little piece of shit_!"

Damien raises both eyebrows and just looks at me. "You do realize this isn't my fault. I'm not the one who kills you."

"Urgh!" I know he's right and I want to kill him for it. Instead, I kick his dresser, which sends pain shooting up my leg.

"It's not fucking fair," I mutter, hating myself for how weak and pathetic I sound.

"No one ever said life was fair." He turns a page.

I sit in the corner of his room, as far away from him as I can get. "It's not fair. Other kids get parties and presents and fucking presents on Christmas day. I get to worry."

"I'm still not saying life is fair."

"Shut up," I snap, even though I know it's still not his fault. I hate him for a little bit right there. Maybe it's the way he's just lying back on his bed, reading his goddamn comic book, caring about me about as much as everyone else does. I could scream as loud as I could and he wouldn't care. No one would care. Maybe I spent too long with that park hood obstructing my speech.

"I just want to relax. And sleep. And have a girlfriend. And go to parties and shit."

Damien sighs and puts his comic book down. Then he sits up on his bed and glares at me. "You do realize I care very little about what goes on in your human world."

"I know."

"It's just another damned soul for me to play with every time someone in your little town dies."

"I know."

"But you're not like me. You're not like everyone else. You actually care."

"I don't care." Lies. Painful lies.

"You do, so shut up and listen to me. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. I agree, it sucks to be you. You have the worst luck and the worst circumstances as any human I've come across. But you also have a fucking mission or a duty or something. And you're the only one who can look after your gay-ass town and your idiot family. So as much as it hurts, you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have to stop having fun and pretending everything's normal, because for you, it's not. Life isn't fair. Death isn't fair, either. Get up and face it."

I use the wall to help myself to my feet. When I'm standing up, Damien surveys me.

"Do you need a hug or something?"

"No," I snap.

"Good, because I wasn't going to give you one." He smirks, exposing his sharp teeth. "Cut out the angst, Ken, and do what you have to do."

"Okay." And I certainly _don't_ sniffle at his words.

Because it does suck to be me. I don't deserve all this responsibility. But I have it anyway.

"Good. Now get back to the surface." He waves his hand and the world around me starts to blur. I recognize the sensation of coming back to life. The last thing I see is him picking up his comic book again.


	6. Futilely, Beautifully

Weee. I'm glad to be done with this. Overall, it's not my best work, but I hoped you enjoyed it anyway.

If you want more tortured Kenny, feel free to check out my other ongoing multichapter fic, 'Break Me, Bury Me,' which is more action-oriented but no less angsty.

Thank you very much everyone who favorited, alerted and reviewed.

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><p>The tips of my boots crunch snow. I pull my parka tighter around my body and flip the collar up to shield my neck from the wind. My eyes sting as I peer through the blaze of snow. White streaks flare out from the darkness, barraging my senses. It's cold enough to hurts to breathe.<p>

"Couldn't get enough of us? Is that why you called us?" A voice hisses through the darkness. "You like getting beaten up or something?"

"As I recall, I killed one of you last time," I say. I feel along the freezing metal of my dad's rusted Toyota truck until I get to the truck bed. The huge ten-gallon container makes my muscles strain, but I manage to haul it out of the truck and onto the snow, anyway.

The headlights to the car are still on, but it illuminates only snow. I can sense them, though, slinking in the shadows, self-righteous and arrogant. They sicken me.

"You won't hurt any of us ever again," Darrin whispers. "You pathetic little human . . . I don't know how you keep managing to evade us . . . but it's the last time . . . "

"Keep telling yourself that." I step out of the headlights and into pitch black. The sound of the ten-gallon tank dragging in the snow is covered up by the howl of wind. I start to dribble liquid in a wide perimeter around my truck.

"What do you want, McCormick?" Wayne sounds frustrated, pissed-off. Excellent. Pissed-off people make mistakes. "What are you playing at? Why do you keep throwing yourself in our way?"

"Because you guys are assholes." I drop the empty container on the ground, wipe my hands free of gasoline, and stand back against my truck. My fingers fumble with the lighter in my pocket. Dad's going to be so pissed at me for destroying his truck.

"We'll kill you."

Darrin finally steps in sight of the headlights. The others follow him. Pale white in the cold, their faces drawn, alien, monstrous. They've destroyed their own futures for petty revenge and shallow desire. Ah, humanity.

"I'm like a fucking cockroach," I say, and smirk a little to myself.

Then I jam the lighter open so the rusted latch is stuck. The flame splutters. I toss it and it lands in a puddle of gasoline a few feet away, against the concrete and snow. Their gazes are drawn to it.

For a second, it's just a little orange flame bursting in a line around us. Then it swarms to the car engine. I see them shouting, trying to run. Too late.

The world explodes.

* * *

><p>When I wake up again, I've twisted around in my sheets until I've fallen to the floor. My muscles are sore and my mouth tastes like ash.<p>

Is it martyrdom if you know you'll come back to life, anyway? Nah. Probably not.

Does winning, finally winning something still feel fucking awesome? Hells yes.

A sound of a rock hitting the window makes me jerk to my feet. The latch is jammed and I have to jiggle it a couple times before I poke my head out. We only have one floor, so it's much less dramatic than it could have been when I come face to face with Kyle.

I blink and stare at him. He's shivering in his parka, his freckles prominent against his pale skin.

"What?" I ask after a few seconds.

"Uh." He hugs himself. "Stan said . . . Stan said you left the party . . . really wasted or something. And I - I was -"

"Trying to be my fucking guardian angel?" I already have a guardian demon back in hell to kick my ass back into gear whenever I start to feel mildly sorry for myself.

"Yeah. Um. About that. Not really. See. My family doesn't celebrate Christmas. And it's like three in the morning. And I realized yours does. And I realized-" He shrugs helplessly. Curls of red hair escape from under his hat. Snow frosts his fringe.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," I warn, the buzz of "Oh my god I just killed all those vampires I'm so awesome" starting to wear off.

"I don't! Jesus, never! I just . . . the Fred Meyers is still open this time of night . . . "

"Fuck those guys," I say.

"Yeah." He blinks. Guess he hasn't gotten the memo about me loosing my job yet. "Fuck those guys. But . . . damn it, Kenny. Stop being to fucking proud and let me take you shopping!"

All I can do is stare at him for a few seconds. He shivers violently, miserably.

"Uh. Okay."

So we go shopping.

* * *

><p>Cans of food. Instant mashed potatoes. Presents, too: Cigarettes for my parents, new kitchenware for my mom, a soccer ball for my idiot brother who doesn't deserve it, a stack of books for Karen. We stop by the Christmas tree farm, giggling with our own stupidity, jump the fence, and hack down one of the tiny ones. He helps me set it up in our living room, both of us crashing into the furniture and making so much noise I'm surprised no one comes down to see what the hell's going on. We pretend-wrap the presents in the paper bags we carried them home in. I flop down on the couch when I'm done, almost unconscious with exhaustion. Kyle sits down next to me, shadows under his eyes, teeth flashing white in the darkness.<p>

"Dude," I say, and survey our stupid tree and the stupid presents and the stupid hope the two of us somehow managed to bring into our house. "No words. I don't - I don't know-"

"Don't try and thank me," he says, looking a little annoyed. "It's the least I can do."

"For what?"

"For being my friend for all these years."

I just look at him for a few seconds. I don't know what I've done to deserve the people around me. A good portion of them are assholes and a larger portion of them are useless, but then there are Stan and Kyle, who have always been sort-of there for me. I hate both of them and love both of them in unique ways. I guess this whole 'friendship' thing, this whole 'depending on other people' thing, is kind of good for something.

It sounds kind of gay in my head, though, so I just say, "Thanks, dude."

We hug, too exhausted and giddy to care about how weird we must look (drenched in snow, trembling all over, smiling like idiots) and then he goes home.

I fall asleep sprawled out on the couch and wake up to my sister's happy shrieks.


End file.
